Bowl

I’m a pretty healthy eater and struggle at times to find a good salad in town. Fortunately we now have Bowl, a small create-your-own-salad joint new to Richmond Avenue near midtown.

How it works: As you walk in, pick up an order form from the front counter. The form features an extensive list of possible salad ingredients and dressings. You choose your greens, check off the toppings you’d like, pick a dressing, and then pass your order to a server. Minutes later your custom salad arrives.

- 10 toppings, one cheese, and one dressing is $7
- 15 toppings, one cheese, and one dressing is $10
- Add a protein (herb chicken, beef tender, shrimp) for $2

Salads are neither too big nor too small, contain fresh ingredients, and arrive promptly. I love a lot of “stuff” in my salad, so the extensive topping list was key. However, the champagne vinaigrette tasted like straight oil. Blech! Next time I’ll try the lemon tarragon.

Not an herbivore? Bowl also features a mouth-watering list of sandwiches. I went back for the El Capitan, a delicious mix of prosciutto, brie, basil, and a honey drizzle. Tasty delight! The pulled pork with thai coleslaw and pistachio chicken salad sandwiches also piqued my interest.

While the location is a bit no-man’s-land-ish, and it’s only open M-F for lunch, Bowl serves a great niche in town, and I’ll definitely be back.

Bowl – 607 Richmond

A Junk-et with a Message

Decidedly not a pretty boat, but pretty unusual: Junk sails for Hawaii. This photo is a still from the video of their departure from Long Beach, CA June 1

First there was Thor Heyerdahl, with his Kon Tiki, and now Dr. Marcus Eriksen's Junk, a raft floating on huge pontoons filled with--get this!--15,000 plastic bottles! Like Roz Savage, whose rowing trip across the Pacific I blogged earlier this month, Eriksen has an environmental message, specifically about all the plastic that's being dumped in our oceans and its effect on wildlife. He's also addressing the impact of certain chemicals such as Bisphenal A, found in baby bottles and toys, on the human body.

But his adventure, shared with Joel Paschal and Ann Cummins, is even wackier than Roz's (just look at the boat for a giggle) and at the same time more practical since he's using four sails to get up some speed and they've installed a considerably more comfortable cabin on board: the cabin of a defunct Cessna.

Their blog, Junk, is maintained from shore by Cummins. It's a Blogspot Blog of Note this week, and I'm adding it to my bloglist. How can I resist? It's got sailing, recycling, hunky crew, alternative energy, and as the icing on the cake, Hawaii as the goal.

With youthful optimism, Eriksen estimated the trip to Hawaii would take six weeks and they'd have arrived by now, but a Google map tracking their progress currently puts them here. We wish them fair winds, a safe landing and all the glory they can stand.

The S/V "Junk" is a project of the Algalita Marine Research Foundation.

A 'You-Think-You-Got-It-Bad' Story

The coast of Baja is stunningly beautiful, desolately remote

High drama has been taking place next door the past few days, while we went blissfully about our daily lives. Today my neighbor J. came over with a desperate request and I heard the whole story. Disaster on the high seas, Mexican medical mysteries and all.

Yama, a Japanese man in his 30s, bought a sailboat with the assistance of my neighbor, who was working for a vessel broker here in town. On Yama's maiden voyage across the Sea of Cortez to Baja, he made a navigational error, something we all do at some point or other, but his was fatal. For the boat, anyway. He smashed into some rocks, broke his leg as he abandoned his sinking boat, and somehow made it to a small island where he was stranded until a sailboat came by and the Mexican crew managed to rescue him and get him to Loreto. Thus rescued, on his way back to civilization, his troubles were over, right? Wrong.

The medical facilities in Loreto weren't equal to the task of mending his leg (!) so he was taken to Constitución, where the tibia was operated on six days after it was broken, and a long gauze bandage wrapped around his entire leg from knee to calf. He has no explanation why he wasn't given a cast of some sort. His English is somewhat limited and his Spanish is nil, which must have been an even worse handicap than the broken leg in some instances.

Somehow he was transported back here to San Carlos where he is now staying at J's house (since she's the only person he knows in Mexico). He has nothing but his crutches and the clothes he was wearing when the boat went down. Everything else he owned, including passport, visa and credit cards are all at the bottom of the sea. His leg is causing enormous pain and he wants to go home. For a couple of days he couldn't even contact his sister in Japan, because he lost her phone number, so there would have been no one to meet him at the airport when he arrives. My neighbor has been on Skype for two days, locating the sister, getting medical, airline and legal information he needs to get temporary papers, a proper cast on his leg and a flight back to Japan.

She came over to ask me if she could wash his one set of clothes (which he'd been wearing for a week or more), having persuaded him to accept a clean shirt and pair of shorts. She said Yama stubbornly refused to go to the hospital.

Tomorrow she and her partner have to go to Tucson where he'll get some help with a possible detached retina. Unable to walk, in pain, Yama will be here alone, or in a hotel somewhere, or ???? And so the drama continues. I've offered what help I can, and have been trying to think of something I can cook for him. Did I mention he's diabetic?

Lessons learned:
• Before our next cruise to anywhere, we have to get together that "ready bag" we've been talking about for ages, with changes of clothing, ponchos, mylar emergency blankets, toothbrushes, copies of our important papers, bottled water, food, pesos, phone list for reaching friends and relatives, a good knife and a flaregun, in a waterproof bag.

• Check that the Spotter is in good working order and the contact info uploaded on it is current. The Spotter is a satellite messenger device slightly larger than a cellphone that works on GPS to call for help and give coordinates in emergencies, and also to regularly notify family and friends where you are, and that you're OK. It works on land and sea, is more portable and costs a lot less than an EPIRB unit, and doesn't require costly periodic recharging. Yama could have really used a Spot.

• Don't break any bones in Loreto!

UPDATE: Yama was taken by a determined J. to the hospital in Guaymas where they'll keep him overnight. He has an infection in his leg, not a good thing with diabetes. J and her partner are changing their plans so they can be here when he gets out. And then help him with whatever comes next.

Himalaya

I had already planned to meet some friends at Himalaya for dinner on Wednesday when I decided to see what the Fearless Critic had to say about it. I had read the review before (it received an A), but had completely forgotten about this part:

"If you do not want to know what your dining companions look like when they have sex, we suggest not bringing them here, because after they take a bite of any of the masalas, biryanis, or naans, you're definitely going to see their O face."

Huh.

My two "dining companions" were old friends from high school, and I didn’t especially want to see what they looked like mid-dibity. One of them is married, after all, and the other I've known since age 12. What would Jerry Seinfeld do? I am intrigued.

I walk in the door to a stark white, well lit room, scattered with tables and chairs. A sign directs me to the corner, where the menu hangs on the wall near a well-loved cash register. This restaurant has no sexual appeal. Like, at all. I will be fine. I find a table and wait for my friends, who soon arrive.

As the owner approaches to take our order, he scrunches his eyebrows for a minute before telling me that I bear a striking resemblance to Cheryl Ladd from Charlie’s Angels. This place rules, I think to myself as I place our order: Chicken tikka masala, naan, and "two other dishes that you think are the best."

Mere minutes later we're staring down a plate of hot samosas. I bite into one with a satisfying crunch, but the lamb inside is dry. The cardamom sauce helps, but next time I'll try the vegetable samosas.

Before we can finish our appetizer, out come the mains. The pumpkin-colored tikka masala is flavorful and rich, with tender pieces of chicken swimming in a spicy masala bath. Delicious. I use my piece of naan to scrape the sauce off my plate, not willing to waste a single cell. The other dish, lamb biryani, is a gigantic plate of rice interlaced with aromatic spices and tender chunks of lamb. While it may look plain, a first taste reveals surprisingly complex flavors. Soon I realize that I am too busy devouring my meal to notice what my friends’ faces look like, nor do I worry about how my own appears.

At times like this there’s only one thing to do. Throw caution to the wind and keep going.

Himalaya – 6652 Southwest Freeway (at Hillcroft)

The (New) Street Where We Live

After all that grumbling, I have to admit the new brick street in front of our house does look good. They made it wider than I expected. I asked them if the baby plumeria tree would be spared, and they assured me it would be protected, although the earthmover has already knocked off a couple of branches loaded with blooms.

When the earthmover had more or less leveled the ground, plowing under our gravel, the workers covered it all with beach sand that had been sieved through a screen to remove rocks and shells. Then they marked off a section at a time with sticks and string, and smoothed it out carefully using a long two-by-four. Finally, they began laying the bricks, which are shaped like identical jigsaw pieces, and hammered each in place. Today they're spreading sand over it all and spraying it with water to work it into the cracks. Next they're framing the sides with planks and aluminum, and then they'll fill in all the gaps with concrete which they mixed with a shovel in a small pile.

The workers have been unfailingly polite and friendly, in remarkably good spirits in the punishing heat and seem to appreciate being addressed in Spanish. They take at least two hours off at midday. This morning it's raining a little, just enough to keep them cool, and they seem to be enjoying the respite from the sun.

I'm wondering if I should set up a table on the porch with bocadillos and bebidas for them when they're finished.

Guadalajara Bakery and Tacos

The Houston Chowhounds recently ranted and raved about this place: Raved about the to-die-for tacos, and ranted about its impending closure to make way for [shudder] more condos on the Washington corridor. Since it’s scheduled to close in August, I figured I’d better get over to Guadalajara Bakery and Tacos with haste.

“Tacos? How many?” she asks as we walk in the door. “Um, four,” we reply, wondering to ourselves if we would get to pick what goes inside. This, we soon learn, is when they begin making our tortillas. EPIC. It takes a few minutes, which is fine because it gives us a chance to look over the steam table wherein lie the taco fillings: refried beans, scrambled egg with chorizo, barbacoa, picadillo (ground beef with potatoes), chicharrones (cooked pork skins) with chilies, and more. I love this place already.

Sweet goodness, the tortillas arrive and they are the most beautiful disks I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s my stomach speaking. OK, I go with one chicharron (with beans) and one barbacoa. We amble to a canary-colored table, and my mouth waters as I wait for my friend Jaime to snap a photo of our gorgeous tacos. With one bite my love for this joint doubles. I’m no expert on chicharrones, but this is the best I’ve had; the beautifully spongy rind melts all too quickly in my mouth, leaving me only a *spicy* memory of its goodness. Was it a dream? Ahhh, I still have one taco left. Against all odds, the barbacoa one is even more impressive; the meat is slow roasted nightly, and I can’t recall ever having a better taco. And the green sauce? I could eat it with a soup spoon. Rumor has it that the proprietress turned down a $10k offer to give up the sauce’s secret family recipe.

We leave vowing to stage a sit-in protest of its closing.

Guadalajara Bakery and Tacos – 4003 Washington (near Yale)

Check out these *killer* pics from Jaime of Casa de Camera!

What Better Place for a Bookworm?

My Reading Deprivation Week opened up a lot of doors and windows for me, getting me out of the house, bringing new people into my life, re-awakening old enthusiasms. Not that I've given up reading entirely, but I needed to correct an imbalance that had me spending whole days with my nose in a book. Escapism. Pick up an interesting novel and it becomes a slippery slope. My name is 1st Mate and I'm a reading addict.

I am nothing if not inconsistent. Two weeks ago I did not permit myself to read a single book. Today I began my new career as a volunteer librarian.

Imagine! A singing librarian, like Marian in "The Music Man!" (This is Barbara Cook, who won a Tony for that role in 1957.)

I'm still reading, but I'm going for quality instead of quantity. I want to discover unfamiliar authors and genres and be more knowledgeable about what's available. That's what I admire about Sue--she can make reading recommendations off the top of her head. She seems to have read everything!

Here in Mexico we don't always have access to the newest books, but because of the nature of San Carlos, the many gringos who pass through here leave a bounty of reading material. There are exchange libraries all over the marina area especially, and from October to May, we have our own well-stocked lending library, where I propose to educate myself.

Meet Pat and Sue, volunteer librarians, and my mentors

Last year I had mentioned to Sue, one of the volunteers at the TAC Library, that I might be interested in volunteering. Our travels this spring prevented me from getting involved sooner, but today I finally took the plunge and had my first training session.

It's not just a matter of getting books back on the shelves like it is in the typical three-shelf book exchange. This is a two-room library. We separate by genre, look for duplicates or "dupes" as there's no space for more than one copy of a book, so we cull those out and send them elsewhere. We have to decide what's mystery, historical fiction, classic fiction, Western, sci-fi, how-to, self-help, and what goes into the category of General Fiction. Boring, you might say, but this is the best part, because we examine each book except the obvious, like Stephen King or Louise L'Amour. So this is where I get a chance to find new authors. Each genre has its own colored sticker, so it only has to be examined once, and from then on it's easy to shelve.
Those dupes go to exchange libraries at the marina laundromat and the bathrooms, or to the local animal advocate group which has a terrific book sale every year (you pick out what you want, and then pay what you want, such a deal!)

One hazard faces the library that could eventually destroy it: termites are creeping in through the wooden supports and shelves, and they like books as well as wood. Years from now, Sue says in resignation, everything will probably crumble to dust except the cedar furniture. But by then, maybe books will all be digital, who knows?

Raia's Italian Market

Though only open for a few weeks, the new Italian Market on Washington, has already received top marks from reviewers of every level. She Eats and I adventured over to Raia's Italian Market on Sunday to give it a whirl.

A few things to note:
-- There is no sign out front yet (Marketing 101?), but the windows are filled with all things Italian-esque.
-- This is both restaurant and Italian market; the market selection is limited, but intriguing. Mmmm, cheese!
-- Though Italian by trade, there is a certain Cajun connection (Cajun pizza, New Orleans pasta, shrimp po’ boys, and more).
-- Service was downright refreshing. The entire staff was friendly and outgoing. Which was good. Since I had a jabillion questions.

We started with the “Cakes and Claws,” two large crab cakes and a six (count ‘em) fried crab claws. Now slap my arse and call me gumbo – this appetizer ruled the roost. The cakes were loaded with fresh crab meat and topped with a semi-spicy remoulade sauce. The claws were breaded with cornmeal and lightly fried to perfection. This app was plenty for two people.

Next came the pasta. I ordered the Carmine (rigatoni with Italian sausage, broccoli, and tomato). With no real sauce to keep it together, this dish wasn’t quite to my liking. While the broccoli was done right and the pasta, itself, great, the sausage was overly anise-seed-y, which made the dish too bitter. Sad face.

Never fear, though. I was happy to beg bites off Katharine, who ordered the Corleone (angelhair with eggplant, black olives, capers, and ricotta with marinara). This? Is what I dream of when I dream of pasta. The ricotta blended beautifully with the marinara, coating the pasta in a creamy, tomatoey glaze. And the rest of the flavors mixed marvelously.

We wrapped up with a “mini cannoli,” which is a nice-sized taste for a post-meal splurge. The almond-flavored outer shell was good enough, but the custard inside was what made my heart flutter. Add a sprinkle of pistachios, and then ask yourself why you’d bother to order the “mini” cannoli as opposed to the “regular.”

Raia – 4500 Washington, suite 200.

Gripe Du Jour: The Cost of Civilization

Our landlady is not to be outdone by the Caballeros (the wealthiest landowners in town, whose beach house is close by). Last month, Señora Caballero had the entire area in front of her palatial casa paved, and this month our Señora has decided to pave the area in front of our duplex and the casita.

Having just paid to lay gravel over the area in question last year, we are disappointed. Having been told we will be assessed $1,000 US to pay for the work is a concern, too, though we've been assured we can pay it off over the next year. The Texan, a multimillionaire who owns the house next to us, gets a free ride; the paving leads all the way to his house but they haven't asked him to contribute. And, hovering like a dark cloud over our heads is the suspicion that the property may go up for sale after all the improvements the owners--and we--have made.

Unloading two more truckloads of brick. That makes five truckloads so far
Seconds after I took this shot of Jose, a big dust cloud blew up. No more open doors and windows for us, for at least a few days

The earth mover started work even before the rains stopped a couple of days ago, closely supervised by Alberto the jefe (left)

Paving the street here doesn't mean asphalt. It means laying interlocking concrete bricks, and several truckloads of brick have been delivered already. Since there was a low place in the parking lot, it's being leveled off. So much for our little monsoon lake. I'll sorta miss it, as it always drained off before it became a problem.

But, speaking of rains, what's going to happen if we get a heavy downpour before they get the brick down? Tomorrow, in fact, rain is expected. We will be wading through a sea of mud to get to our car. The dogs will have to be carried out for their excursions or they'll come back looking like lumps of mud.

But my biggest gripe? If I were going to shell out $1k I would have liked to use it to build a big palapa on the roof. Now that would have well worth the cost.

Crossing the Pacific, a Stroke at a Time

Next time I'm confronted with the opportunity to do something brave, I'll keep Roz Savage in mind.

Following her goal of being the first woman to row (that's right, with oars, in a rowboat) across the Pacific, Roz left Sausalito on a calm midnight in May. Her boat is well supplied with a small cabin, a computer, satellite phone, video camera, iPod, backup oars, a collection of stuffed animals sent to her by kids as mascots. There's a chase boat in range to help keep her safe, a good thing after her last attempt when the boat capsized three times in gale conditions out of Crescent City and she had to abandon it and go back for it later. But it's Roz and only Roz who's making this crossing, a stroke at a time.

It's unclear to me why she chose to row exclusively instead of installing a mast so she could sail part of the way. But this her undertaking, not mine. One can only imagine the muscles she's developed, particularly since she's already rowed across the Atlantic.
Roz has devoted her efforts to publicizing her concern for the environment. On her website she writes:

When we are gone, the Earth will recover from the mess we’ve made. Even though our effects on the planet appear to be catastrophic, it’s ourselves that we’re harming. The Earth will continue. We may not.

Those interested in her progress are following her through three weekly podcasts hosted by Leo LaPorte on iTunes, a whole collection of YouTube videos, updated email newsletters... She may be alone but Roz is a social animal with lots of admirers.

It doesn't hurt that she's also gorgeous, with an irresistible London accent.

Why I Wish I Could Vote in SF This November

They may have an easier time getting voters to the polls in San Francisco this fall. A measure seeking to commemorate President Bush's years in office by slapping his name on a San Francisco sewage plant has qualified for the November ballot...

"We think that it's important to remember our leaders in the right historical context," said ... a member of the group that was formed after friends came up with the renaming idea. The rest of the story is here.

Zorra Loses Her Head

The Capt decided to get an early start this morning, a very lucky thing. It's been raining buckets and he knew the dinghy would be full of water, so he headed for the marina to pump it out. Moments later he was back.

"Get a towel and come with me," he commanded.

A block away, Zorra, my favorite feral feline, had her head stuck in a tin can and was struggling mightily to get loose. Worse, she was unknowingly lying in the middle of the road! The Capt, in his efforts to rescue her, had already gotten some bloody scratches. Twice we tossed our big beach towel over her, and twice she sprang loose, growling ferociously the whole time. Finally he bound her up, lifted her, and I gently twisted the can a couple of times.

Success! Having regained her head, Zorra leaped out of the towel with a hissing blur, and went flying through the patio of the Samoyed Death Squad. Luckily the Samoyeds were out on a walk or they would have been after her. I've seen them demolish at least one cat, while their owner stood idly by, holding the other end of their leash.

If the Capt hadn't been in a hurry to bail out the dink, if the Samoyeds hadn't been out for a walk, if a car had come along before we got there with the towel, Zorra might have been a goner.

Not that she'll ever wag her tail and say thanks, but we have dogs for that.

An Offer I Couldn't Refuse

(clockwise from left) The Capt, Franca, Laura, Franco, Almita and Lucia

Sometimes people can blow through your life like a refreshing breeze and though your time together is brief and you may never see them again, you feel a gentle shift in your whole outlook as a result of knowing them. That's how it was with the Italians.

Franca, Franco, Lucia and Laura are on a three-week vacation from their home in Northern Italy near the French border, and they're making the most of every moment. They had arrived from Baja where they had put in considerable beach time, and were on their way to El Fuerte, a historic fort town, and after that to the train tour of Copper Canyon. We met them when they were looking for a restaurant in Guaymas, and gave them a ride to their hotel in San Carlos.

They had one day to take in the sights in San Carlos and I was their self-appointed guide. I had other things to do, places to go, but I made an abrupt decision to sweep all my commitments aside and concentrate on enjoying my day with the Italians.

The pool pass for the Marina Terra Hotel came in handy, as they were in the mood for swimming and lolling in the sun. These folks seem to have no fear of Ol' Sol, and other than slathering on a little sunblock they took no particular precautions. They played in the pool like waterbabies all morning, doing somersaults, playing leapfrog, synchronized swimming and water aerobics, and I went right along with them. They all seem to be thoroughly in touch with their inner bambinos. In spite of two sunblock applications, I came home with a bit of a sunburn, but it was worth every moment.

Then in the evening I met them back at the pool and they offered me a home-cooked Italian meal. An offer I couldn't refuse! An hour later they showed up at our house, banished me from the kitchen, and proceeded to put together a pasta dish with fresh tomatoes, olives and tuna, while Almita and I practiced singing together. (When I told Almita I had a houseful of Italians for the evening she was eager to meet them, and I thought she'd enjoy their company, especially since she has expressed an interest in learning Italian.)

All four are teachers: Laura teaches physical education, Franca teaches Italian history, Lucia teaches a general curriculum in primary school, and Franco is a retired professor of engineering. Our conversations tended to drift into language differences between Italian, Spanish and English, and I found a lot of my newly-acquired Spanish was useful in understanding their rapid-fire chatter. Franca also has excellent English and acted as interpreter for the rest.

Franco loves jazz, so we wound up in the studio, where the Capt and I did our reworked guitarless version of "Take Five" with Franco singing along. Laura, sporting the Capt's porkpie hat, and Franca danced and clowned, not the least inhibited by the cramped space. These people really know how to make the most of a good time.

They were leaving this morning at the crack of dawn for El Fuerte. We've been invited to visit them in Italy and stay in Franca's daughter's guesthouse, and I'm starting to think, "Perché no?"

Sometimes you just have to drop what you're doing and let life have its way with you.

Housewarming Heaven

I moved into a new house on Tuesday, and my realtor brought over the best possible housewarming gift: a flat of lasagna from Carrabba’s and a vat of bread pudding form Joyce’s. Oh la la!

The original Carrabba’s (on Kirby) is the only one still owned by the Carrabba family, and it is every bit as fabulous as the day it opened. The lasagna was picture perfect with just the right combination of meat, noodle, and ricotta. Hearty and delicious, without feeling overly rich. Sure beats the Sam’s version.

Fine, I admit it. I still like the Sam's lasagna. Just like I still like Kraft mac-and-cheese. They are hard habits to break.

And now? Dessert. Bread pudding ranks as an all-time favorite for me. I love Monica Pope’s. Brennan’s and Ruggles Café sure serve them up nice. And for the love of Pete, don’t you dare add raisins or dried fruit. Yes, my love for bread pudding is intense, but not blind, and I was blown away by the talented version from Joyce’s, a seafood joint on Westheimer. My sweet realtor made a special trip there just to get it, when theoretically, she could have toted a so-so tiramisu from Carrabba’s without dropping the extra coin on gas. Joyce’s bread pudding is a white chocolate number topped with crumbled pecans, and it is heaven on a spoon. Melty, gooey, bready goodness with just the right amount of crunch.

Just a few ideas for the next time it's your turn to host.

When Bloggers Meet, Waiters Wait...and Wait

"Oh, there you are!" Late as usual, we find our fellow bloggers and mates. Mike and Cynthia on the left, Brenda and Roy on the right

Bloggers united last night at Los Barcos restaurant on the Malecon in Guaymas. Cynthia invited the Capt and me, Brenda and Roy for dinner and we became so embroiled in conversation the waiter had to come over and force us to order. That was when we found out the kitchen closes at 6:30. Caramba! Just goes to show you that sometimes talk is more important than food.

Photos: Los Barcos is a lovely large, airy space with a walled garden in back, distinguished by the obelisk directly across the street, and an enormous palapa roof. (So why did I have so much trouble finding it before?) Below is what the roof looks like from underneath.


After dinner (everyone had shrimp in a delicious concoction of one description or another), we were shooed out. In no hurry to dash away, all six of us were standing in front of the restaurant admiring the obelisk across the street and chatting some more when four Italians came up, very disappointed that the doors were locked. They had just disembarked from the Santa Rosalia ferry, a 10-hour boat ride, and were tired, starved and in need of a shower. Their hotel reservations were in San Carlos, so the Capt offered them a ride. We stuffed them and all their gear in the back of my little Ford Escort and drove them to their room and the Captain's Club for dinner. A roof over their heads, food...they were so happy, we were all singing "Santa Lucia" by the time we had driven a few blocks.

As for the rest, well, that's another blog. Ciao, bambinos!

Hallelujah! The Muse is Back

Almita's quinciniero portrait...isn't she beautiful?
•••

Things are heating up in the music department again and I'm stoked! I was sad to see our guitarist go, but now it looks like we'll survive, musically speaking, until he gets back.

Much of our new material will be in Spanish, which was on my wish list of things to bring into my life.

• I found a violinist! Almita is only here for a couple of weeks, visiting her tia Alma in the Ranchitos, but we plan to make the most of it. She has been playing with a band at home in Guasave (pronounced Wasabi, like the sauce for sushi), and she sings, too, with a sweet voice and a big range! She's 17 (I first met her when she was 15), studies hard and has made it to the top of her class. A computer whiz, so we can share songs when she goes home. Yesterday we located one of her favorite songs on iTunes and sang it together, and it was still running through my head when I woke this morning. It's called "Vivo Por Ella," the version we bought is by Andrea Bocelli and Marta Sanchez and it's stupendously popular here in Mexico. The "Ella" of the title is not a woman, but music.

"Ella se llama Música" (Her name is Music)

When I took the lyrics to my singing teacher Lolita yesterday, she became very excited, said it was one of her favorites too, and translated it for me word for word.

• I'm still hoping that Tia Alma will be enticed into singing with us, too. She used to be in a band in college.

• Our landlord, Daniel, is interested in working with a violinist, and wants to come this weekend to meet Almita and maybe work on some songs.

• The skipper of "Vivid" is back from Utah and will be doing her songs at the Captain's Club Sunday, so I'll harmonize with her on a few of them. Her collection leans toward contemporary folk, songs like "Fisherman's Daughter," by the Waifs, an Australian duo. Good tunes for two-part harmony.

• Daniel told me there's a singer in his group, Juanito, who'd like to do some songs with me. I met Juanito once: an older man who has sung professionally all his life, his voice is opera-quality and muy fuerte. Guess I'll have to turn up my mike.

• On Friday we had my birthday dinner at JJ's, a popular taco place, and there was a fellow I had sung with at the Captain's Club a few weeks ago. We really had fun with "Hit the Road Jack." He said he'd been back to the Club looking for us, and I promised we'd return soon. He's about 25, the size of a football lineman. African American, black or whatever the current politically-correct term is. But the important thing is he loves to sing. Hmmm, maybe he'd like to meet "Mustang Sally"...

What, ANOTHER new gizmo?

I love to try out new bells and whistles, gizmos and gadgets. Well, I love it if they work, anyway. So, since I've heard from friends who don't have gmail accounts that they haven't been able to comment on this blog, I've installed a new Cbox tagboard, which seems to be functioning just fine. Just type in your name and email and a message in the tiny boxes at the bottom, and they'll pop up like magic. Don't know yet how long a message you can leave, so it's up to you to push the envelope.

So go ahead, type in a message. Try to keep it clean, I haven't figured out how to delete from it yet.

I'll be waiting to hear from you. Right here by the computer, holding my breath.

Well, not really...

A Field of Red Balloons

Is the methane from cows destroying the ozone? Argentine farmers decided to measure how much methane is emitted from grazing cows, and they went about it the way you'd imagine a 10-year-old would do it: by strapping big red balloons to their backs.

This Reuters news clip tells it all--except they keep referring to "cow burps" which may a euphemism but is anatomically misleading. I've heard the problem actually originates from the other end of the cow.

Who knows, with our fuel costs going up, maybe all cows will be sporting red balloons someday.

Mercado y Tianguis!

It's not just about the shopping, although the thrill of the hunt is obviously involved. But wandering through a Mexican mercado is considerably more fun than shopping at the typical supermarket. Of course it's funkier than a supermarket, and you can turn a corner and be confronted with a dead cow's head or other distressing sight (I tend to avoid the meat and fish markets). But it's only distressing because we're used to seeing everything all tidily packaged, gringo-style.

The first mercado I ever saw was in Guadalajara, decades ago. It was housed in a three-story building and I spent three days there! I'd probably need even more time there now, since I know more about what they have to sell.

The vendedora de verduras (veggie lady) at Mercado Mazatlan. Tomatoes were three pesos per kilo. Go ahead, do the math. A peso is roughly equivalent to a dime. A kilo is roughly two pounds. (These prices were from spring, 2007)

Thanks to a blog by Jim Johnson in Mexico City, I found this list of mercados to take with me next time I go traveling. The list is part of an engrossing website, Mercados: Traditional Mexican Markets, which also includes a page with advice about eating mercado food. For those of us in our first year in Mexico, it's probably a good idea to follow this advice closely. After a year or so, apparently our intestinal flora adapts well enough that we can be braver about what we eat, and where. But I don't think I'll ever be ready to buy meat or fish that has been sitting on a counter in a mercado for hours. No, gracias.

(A friend told me about a meat vendor in a mercado who was boasting that while other stands were fly-infested, no bugs were hovering over his merchandise. Then he brandished a can of Mexican bug spray with which he proceeded to liberally douse his stock, while my friend backed cautiously away.)

Herbal baths to help with business, virility and bad luck, in a fascinating booth selling charms, herbs and incense at Mercado Mazatlan
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The list is probably not complete -- it doesn't mention the one in Guaymas where I found potatoes as big as a baby's head, or the one in San Blas where I tasted my first mamey.

Here, of course, we also have tianguis, four of them in the area. Tianguis is like a mercado, only outdoors and not open daily. In fact, I have to cut this post short and get ready to leave for tianguis this morning at Empalme. The Capt is looking for a cushion for a new stool I can sit on while I sing. I'm looking for bandanas to add to my collection (a buck apiece) and some veggies for a stirfry.

The fruit lady at Empalme tianguis

Why I Don't Live In Mexico City (nor should you!)

A post from Mexico City columnist Jeremy Schwartz:
"Here’s yet another reason (and perhaps the most graphic) why Mexico City residents have a deep mistrust of police: according to the city’s attorney general’s office, 80 percent of the reported kidnappings in recent months occurred at the hands of criminal bands dressed as law enforcement agents" continued at Uncovering Mexico, posted July 2

Moving the Furniture Around, Changing the Slipcovers

Sometimes I just need a change. So I thought I'd go with white, float the columns and do away with the blocks of color. Please let me know if this blog is harder to read, less visually attractive or makes me look fat.

Go Ahead, Try This at Home

This is sure to add fuel to the cell phone vs. your health controversy. I never wear mine.

Téléphone Portable + Maïs = Pop-corn - Video

'Tis the Season for Torturing Fish

Dorado, aka mahi mahi, is popular prey in these parts
•••

Front page news in the current English-language paper, the San Carlos Tribune: "It's Tournament Time!" To dispel doubt as to what kind of tournament, there's a photo of a marlin standing on its tail in the water, with the Tetas in the background.

While there's no tournament this weekend, there are still plenty of gringos here in town avidly seeking close encounters of the finny kind.

The July 4th Billfish Blowout, the Ladies' International Fishing Tournament (LIFT) and the Yacht Club Tournament are all over for the year, but everybody in the charter business is gathering their gear for the 61st Annual International Billfish Tournament July 31.

Marlin on the hook. Oh, we're having a good time now!
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Nowadays, with the pressure to protect certain species, marlin and sailfish must both be released after catching, so a circle hook is required. All the fishermen get to keep is a photo, maybe a prize and fond memories of what they perceive as fun and fulfillment. They seem to view the whole process like a game of "Tag, You're It!" with the fish being good sports about it. They're not about to let a little wound in the mouth and a half hour in the searing sun on somebody's boat spoil their day.

Taxidermists are feeling the pinch, since fewer fishermen are bringing in their billfish catches to be stuffed. But reasonably lifelike facsimiles made of plastic are selling well.

However, dorado, tuna and wahoo are dead meat. I remember a dorado the Capt caught on our sailboat, a day south out of San Diego with the Baja Ha Ha in 1997. I watched it die in the cockpit, its dazzling metallic colors gradually changing as its life drifted away along with my appetite.

Sailfish meets human. "Relax, big boy, you'll be back in the water in a jiffy."
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The Rescate Tournament offers cash prizes, but the big money is in the side bets of up to $1K. Ladies of the LIFT pay $50 each to toil all day in the sun for the chance to win a crystal salad bowl, but at least they don't have to handle yucky bait, live or dead. "Thank God (it's) a lure-only tournament, so that our hands don't stink, we don't have to change and replace bait all day..." said a competitor.

So the fish doesn't even get a taste of bait to sweeten the deal a little. Is this fair, I ask you?

Yes, the fisherman is king here in San Carlos. Certainly more of a contributor to the economy than sailboaters. I even remember a big van at the marina with a bumper sticker that read "bloodonthedocks.com," but when I googled that URL I found no such site. Like the species it proposes to decimate, it's extinct.

The fish are not biting much this year, according to the San Carlos Tribune. Could it be that survival of the fittest principles are at work here? Are they getting smarter?

But, thank God, they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; although they are more noble and more able.

Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

Nuts and Bolts of a Dream

Google map shows Patzcuaro, its proximity to Morelia and Mexico City
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When you find a blog that entertains and informs, it's worth checking out. A case in point: La Vida Bouganvillea, a single previously deleted, now restored post by Michael Dickson, who lives in Patzcuaro and offers no pie-in-the-sky illusions about living in that part of Mexico. "Frigid, dusty, mountainous" were the words he used. But the elements he really objects to are "unsuitable sorts toting cameras, real estate brochures and fat checkbooks" who seem to be swarming his hometown of late.

"Frigid" doesn't sound too bad to me, at the moment. Let's load up the car, Capt, and go visit Michael. I'll take my camera, but hands off the real estate brochures. No worries about fat checkbooks, no hay.

(Remember the joke about the idiot who exclaimed, "I can't be overdrawn, look at all the checks I've got in my checkbook!")

What Michael does offer is some nuts-and-bolts advice that can be applied to just about anywhere in Mexico. A little different approach from his usual amusing meanderings.
Here's what he says about bringing cars (and I'm beginning to think he's right):

If you bring your U.S. or Canadian car down here, you will be perpetually involved in little problems regarding insurance, driver´s license, registration, etc. These problems will mostly be insignificant, but they will be as persistent as a tsetse fly. Sell it.

Buy a Mexican car here, and cops will notice you less.

La Vida Bouganvillea is on my bloglist, and though it's unclear whether Michael plans an update, it's worth a read if your dreams include exploring or moving to this perplexing, fascinating country.

Gracias, Michael.

Lets see the Dog Whisperer do this!!

Not Just About Me

A birthday isn't only about the person who was born that day. Another person who has a right to celebrate is the one who did all the hard work and delivered that baby xxxx years ago. I was first struck by that thought on April 13 when my son marked his 40th, and again today, when my mother called, with the help of my sister, from Oklahoma. My mom can't easily make a phone call anymore even though her phone has my number in its databank and she needs only to push a button. If she succeeds in making the call and gets my answering machine it throws her into confusion. My mother suffers from dementia, possibly Alzheimer's, and is in an assisted living home.

So I had to remind her where she gave birth to me, her firstborn...Kingsville, Texas. And I asked her if she remembers anything from that long ago day, but it's gone from her memory. Because I live so far away, someday she may not remember me, either. But I won't dwell on that. For now, she's still delighted to hear my voice and we can have a brief conversation. And maybe later my sister will open this blog and show it to Mother and she'll be pleased that I remembered what a significant day this is for her, too.

Happy Birth Day, Mom.

A Virtual Birthday Gift

Nobody ever wrote me a poem before. What a special birthday present! And with it, Sue in Oregon sent me a photo of a flawless pink rose from her garden. How did she know the pink ones were my favorite?

A Birthday Wish to Bliss

Although I've never met you,
It seems as though I did!
Reading your blogs and E-mails,
Like "sometime when I was a kid?"

Some of our likes are different,
Though some seem a lot the same.
As I travel on business through Oregon,
Seems I'm always spotting your name!

I do hope your Birthday's a pleasure.
Do things musical, fun and bold!
Remember you don't have the monopoly!
For all of us just keep getting OLD!

Sue Keith, 7/8/08

Actors' Studio Meme

Sunset on San Carlos Bay

Meme (meem) - an element of a culture or system of behavior that may be considered to be considered to be passed from one individual to another by nongenetic means, esp. imitation.

I've never posted a meme before, but better late than never. If you've ever watched Actor's Studio on TV you've seen famous people scratching their heads over these kinds of questions. Now you get to do it too! Here they are, with my answers. Feel free to insert your own and post them on your blog.

1. What is your favorite word? Albondigas (means 'meatball' in Spanish, always makes me chuckle.
2. What is your least favorite word? appropriate (so prissy)
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually, emotionally? Singing in harmony. Long walks in beautiful places at sunset (is that corny, or what?)
4. What turns you off? Hateful material on the Internet
5. What is your favorite curse word? Jeez Louise
6. What sound or noise do you love? Ocean waves, the sound of sails when the wind fills them
7. What sound or noise do you hate? Sudden screech of brakes
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Singer
9. What profession would you not like to do? Public school teacher
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? Ah, there you are! the choir is looking for another alto!

High tech cherry-pitter

Yesterday I was wondering what my friend Sue used to pit the homegrown cherries for her yummy cherry crisp, and here's the gadget. Still can't figure out how it works, never was much good at mechanical doodads.

Tomorrow's my birthday. But what I'm really looking forward to is Saturday, the final day of Reading Deprivation Week.

Ah, books! No calories, no fat, no electricity required (at least in the daytime), no admission fee, no place I have to go to enjoy them. Such a variety, I could never run out of books, even here in Mexico where there's no Barnes & Noble, but the books I come across here are usually free. If nothing else, this week has reminded me how much I love books.

Cherry Fever

If anyone loves cherries as much as I do and is as appalled at the general price, cherries are on sale at Randall's for $4/pound (down from $7/pound). Both Bing and Ranier. Woo-hoo.

Boom Boom Room

While the name inspires seedy images of 70's-disco-esque night clubs, Houston’s version of the Boom Boom Room comes across as subdued cool. I met a friend for a quick catch-up session and we were immediately struck by the unique fixtures, roomy space, and comfy seating. However, we were the only people there. Only people. Which. Was. Weird.

On to the food. Boom Boom Room concentrates on paninis, which they offer in a wide variety. Since it is physically impossible for me to say no to brie, I had the turkey, avocado, and brie sammich, but the seared tuna sounded wonderful, as did the braised beef with caramelized onions. My panini arrived perfectly warm and perfectly cooked, with melty cheese and a light crunch. And the sandwich was LARGE. Plenty of food, though it also came with a side of veggie chips.

Afterwards we split the aptly named Crack Brownie. What they refer to as “crack” is better known as a layer of heath bar sandwiched between layers of brownie. It comes warm and is worth every penny.

Overall, Boom Boom Room is a fantastic place for a low-key dinner with friends. They also have fun drinks, a fabulous wine list, and a regular band every Saturday, making it a super weekend venue, too.

Boom Boom Room - 2518 Yale Street

Learning to Let Go

Zorra used to hang out on the kitchen window ledge for hours

I have a confession to make. Since they were babies I had been feeding a family of feral cats and although they weren't tame, they had grown up relying on me. But I was outvoted by my next-door neighbors and the Capt, all of whom tell me I'm interfering with Mother Nature by putting out kibble for them everyday (not to speak of the times I'd slip chicken, tuna and sardines to them). So I regretfully had to close the free feral cafeteria.

The feeding made it possible to have them neutered, as I'd never have been able to round them up if they weren't expecting food. The problem started when we went cruising and I didn't leave enough kibble for them, not realizing we'd be gone three months. When it ran out they stormed our neighbors, who have their own cat and, therefore, a kibble supply. One of them tore up the neighbors' screens while we were gone, another knocked down a pricey propeller in his workshop and all five were swarming the front door at the crack of dawn every morning. Although they continued to put out water for the ferals, the neighbors were exasperated by the time we got home. They're not really fond of cats other than their own. But thinking of how betrayed and desperate those hungry cats must have felt, I still feel like crying.

The last litter...Zorra didn't get neutered in time and these babies arrived last fall
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"They'll learn to hunt," everyone assures me, "and then we won't have mice anymore." There's a field behind us, one to the side and another one in front, so the mouse population is probably enormous. I try to comfort myself with that thought.

Friendly Zorra, her timid twins, the handsome Felipe, the talkative Chucho...I've seen each of them from time to time, glaring at me like the vile traitor I am, but they all do look healthy. And at least I won't fret about them next time the Capt wants us to head off on a three-month cruise.

The twins, a neighbor cat, Chucho and Felipe at the feeding station

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Yesterday I found a new cat, one I don't have to feed, fix or take to the vet. I was shopping for gadgets to add to my blog and adopted a sweet cybercat. I can even take him cruising, and he won't mark his territory, leave poop or claw the curtains. He purrs if I rub his belly, talks if I touch his nose, blinks and breathes. His pupils dilate, his tail and whiskers twitch, he bats at the cursor and his big green eyes follow it around the page. Best of all, the neighbors won't object to him. If you want one, he's a Google widget called Maukie.

Maybe I should take a hint from the behavior of mother cats. They adopt, feed, raise the babies and eventually wean them and set them free. Here's a sweet mama cat story:

"Newborn red panda (the furball without the stripes) suckling on a domestic cat together with the cat's kittens. The red panda, born June 30 and rejected by its mother soon afterward in Amsterdam's Artis zoo, has been adopted by the domestic cat, the zoo said on July 9, 2008. Red pandas look like raccoons and when fully grown are slightly larger than a domestic cat."

As the Fragrance Wafts From The Kitchen...

Well, Sue, we've been waiting all day for that cherry crisp to come out of the oven, but it was worth it. Here it is in all its golden glory.

Knowing Sue, she probably used an antique cherry pitter to get the stones out. And it probably worked as well or better than anything we'd find today. When did you last see a cherry pitter for sale?

The Subject Was Cherries

Photo: Royal Anne cherries, by Sue Keith

Day Three of Reading Deprivation Week and for some reason I'm obsessing on food. So I check my email, and here's what I find from my friend Sue in Aloha, OR.

Royal Anne Cherries, on the tree, at 7:30 a.m. by noon, were in jars, ready for the Winter! These are sour, but I made four crisps (freezing cherries for one), and canned 14 quarts! All by noon today. Of course, with John's help! I would still be working on them if he did not help!

If you thought that shelf of canned cherries I pictured yesterday looked delicious, this shot of Royal Annes still on the tree, destined to become cherry crisp, will have you salivating like Pavlov's pups! Ding! Isn't she a fabulous photographer?

Sue also shared her recipe, such a generous soul. I keep telling her she should start a blog of her own, but meanwhile, I'll pass on her photos and inspirations to the rest of the world anytime. Just wish she could send me some of that cherry crisp!

You use fresh fruit, just like you were making a pie...sugar, spices... however you like it. Then, sprinkle a DRY cake mix over it, just covering the fruit. All this is in a flat dish. Then dribble melted butter or margarine over it, not covering it all, but almost, but not so it runs over. Put in the oven at 300 or so, and cook about 45 min. till brown. We like ours brown and crisp. It is so easy, it is neat to do. If I can, I'll take a picture of a "done" one that is in the oven. I do it with apples, rhubarb, cherries, blueberries, and whatever I have. This year I mixed the rhubarb and strawberries.

She wondered what fruit we have here in Mexico. Let's see, last time I looked there was mango, apple, papaya, banana, pineapple. (I bet the pineapple would be best)

What we don't have here are cake mixes.